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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589626">5 Times Dean and Sam Hunted So They Wouldn't Kill Each Other</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula'>authoressnebula (authoressjean)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Gen, Hilarity Ensues, Humor, angst what angst, because Sam and Dean don't really want to kill each other, brothers being annoying, brothers being brothers, but boy is being a brother tough sometimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:34:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,403</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, they hunt to save lives. And sometimes, they hunt to ensure they don't kill each other.</p><p>Being brothers isn't all sweetheart moments and leaning on each other, after all.</p><p>Re-posted from LiveJournal; originally shared June 2010.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>5 Times Dean and Sam Hunted So They Wouldn't Kill Each Other</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Posting more stories from when I originally shared them on LiveJournal.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam needed to kill something. No, not something, some<em>one</em>. A specific someone, if it had to come down to that. But he'd take the something.<br/><br/>Because killing his brother probably wasn't a good idea. Especially when his brother was currently driving the car at over sixty miles an hour, a car they were both traveling in. So. Bad idea. Even if Dean really deserved it at the moment. Killing something else to take his frustrations out on was probably the better choice.<br/><br/>But god help him, if Dean touched radio again-<br/><br/>And just like Dean had heard him, his brother reached for the dial and twisted the knob, scrunching his nose. “There's nothing out here, Dean,” Sam managed through gritted teeth. “We're in the middle of nowhere. There's no need to-”<br/><br/>Click went the knob as he turned it again. Sam's teeth felt like they were going to break. First it'd been the shower the night before, Dean taking up all the hot water. Then it'd been Dean taking up all the free air in the car after he'd gone toxic thanks to the burrito for dinner, and now...now it was the clicking.<br/><br/>“Bound to be something,” Dean said. “There's always something playing.”<br/><br/>Indeed, the radio decided to start playing something. Something country, and Sam almost sighed in relief before-<br/><br/>Click.<br/><br/>Click.<br/><br/>Click. “God, is there anything out here to listen to?” Dean whined.<br/><br/>Sam really needed to kill something. Hours and hours in the car with his brother were too much, so when the gas station approached on the right, Sam suggested they stop, and made it clear they were going to whether Dean wanted to or not. Dean glared at him but pulled over. Sam was out of the car before Dean had even put it into park. “Ask if there's any stations out here!” Dean yelled after him.<br/><br/>Sam, however, had a different mission. He grabbed a newspaper and headed straight for the bored guy at the counter. “Anything strange going on around here?” he asked hopefully.<br/><br/>The guy raised his head and his eyebrow. 'Besides you?' was the obvious expression.<br/><br/>“Heard there's weird things happening down at that lake,” Sam said, fishing for anything. He wasn't even sure if there was a lake nearby, but they were in the midwest, there were <em>always</em> lakes.<br/><br/>The guy slowly nodded. “Uh, yeah. That thing with the missing teenagers. Y'know. Stupid kids doin' stupid stuff at night. Wind up missing.”<br/><br/>Sam could've kissed him. Instead he left a ten dollar bill for the newspaper and a, “Keep the change,” over his shoulder.<br/><br/>“No stations,” Sam said as soon as he got back inside. “But I have a hunt.”<br/><br/>Dean grumbled but left the radio alone for the next ten miles.<br/><br/>The water sprite didn't stand a chance under Sam's frustration. Dean gave him a wary gaze as Sam let out a triumphant sigh and headed back to the car. Dean was alive, Sam wasn't planning on killing him anymore, and the rock music they found as they left the area was still better than any clicking of the knob.</p><p>~*~</p><p><br/><br/>“It's right.”<br/><br/>“You've never been through here before, Sam.”<br/><br/>“Yes I have, and I know it's to the right.”<br/><br/>Dean glared at Sam. Sam glared at Dean. “You wanna bet?” Dean said.<br/><br/>Sam rolled his eyes. “I swear to god, Dean-”<br/><br/>“Yeah, you're a regular ray of sunshine yourself,” Dean snapped. God but he was gonna kill the kid. Sam started drumming his fingers on the door and Dean had to physically wrap his hands tighter around the wheel before he tightened them around Sam's neck.<br/><br/>He was so focused on not killing Sam that he was past the exit before he realized it. He managed not to growl or bang the wheel, but it was a close thing. Goddammit, the hell was it on the right-<br/><br/>Sam didn't even bother clearing his throat. “I told you so,” he said, and Dean had to get out of the car, <em>now</em>, before he murdered Sam. Because god help him, he would, and no one would convict him for it. Justifiable homicide, especially with Sam drumming his fingers again.<br/><br/>Dean took the next exit and wound up at a small diner. “Where are you-” Sam started, only to be cut off by the slamming of the door. Pie would help drown out the need to kill Sam, because he really did need Sam. Sam was crucial in his life. Only the kid knew the password to the computer, and without the computer Dean couldn't have porn on a regular basis. So Sam was necessary to his survival.<br/><br/>The woman looked distracted, but she got him pie to go fast enough. “I'll be happy when they tear that house down,” she said to another customer. “Enough people have gotten hurt in it, should've been taken down years ago. It took someone dying to do it, and how they found him...? It's terrible, absolutely terrible.”<br/><br/>Dean paused, hand outstretched to take the bag. “House?” he asked casually. Old house that was giving way? People dying? Lots of timbers and possible ghosts to swing at, so Dean didn't swing at Sam's head?<br/><br/>Apparently, there was. Dean hurried back to the car and ordered Sam to open up the laptop and search for the house, because he had a feeling. Sam drummed his fingers on the laptop as he looked it up, causing Dean to almost bite through his tongue in an effort to not reach over and drum Sam's head against the window.<br/><br/>A hunt it was indeed: one death, fifty years before, and accidents to everyone who moved in ever since. House was set for demolishing in two days, but that wouldn't get rid of the spirit. Time for some salting and burning.<br/><br/>He didn't get to go to the house, but Dean insisted on digging the grave alone. If a lot of the dirt wound up being tossed in Sam's direction, or if Dean wound up hacking at it instead of really digging, Sam wisely didn't say anything. He crunched through the coffin more than he should've, and he shook the bottle of lighter fluid vigorously even while he squeezed almost the entire bottle out onto the body. It wasn't shaking Sam until he shut up, but it was good enough.<br/><br/>When he lit the match and tossed it in, Dean had to be hauled back away from the monstrous flame that went up twenty feet past the grave. “Uh, Dean?” Sam asked, sounding a tad frightened now.<br/><br/>“Look at it burn,” Dean said cheerfully, watching the bones sizzle and listening to them crack under the heat. He breathed in deeply, then let it all out. A little pyromania, a little digging, and he was less likely to kill his brother.<br/><br/>“We can go now,” he said, patting Sam on the back. He'd let the authorities deal with the grave.<br/><br/>Sam cast weird glances his way as they drove off, but he was mercifully silent, and Dean grinned all the way back to the motel.</p><p>~*~</p><p><br/><br/>“I <em>told</em> you that you had it backwards.”<br/><br/>“It works either way, Sam.”<br/><br/>“It's a <em>backpack</em>, Dean, there's a way to wear it-”<br/><br/>“It doesn't freakin' look like a backpack! How the hell was I supposed to know?”<br/><br/>“Because I told you it was a backpack, and I told you that you had it backwards.”<br/><br/>“Screw you, Sam.”<br/><br/>“You know what? Screw <em>you</em>, Dean. I was helping-”<br/><br/>“By being the biggest pain in the ass ever?”<br/><br/>“-and I swear to god, I am <em>this close</em> to doing something you're not gonna like.”<br/><br/>“Yeah, well, right back at you.”<br/><br/>“You know what your problem is, Dean?”<br/><br/>“You?”<br/><br/>“You're a slob.”<br/><br/>“Excuse me?”<br/><br/>“Yeah, you heard me. You're a slob, and you couldn't find your own two goddamn feet without me.”<br/><br/>“Now you wait just a minute-”<br/><br/>“Though I don't know how, seeing as how your feet reek all the time.”<br/><br/>“...You know what? That's it. I've had it with you and your pompous attitude-”<br/><br/>“<em>Pompous</em>? Since when is my telling the truth <em>pompous</em>?”<br/><br/>“Shut up, Sam.”<br/><br/>“<em>You</em> shut up.”<br/><br/>“No, I'm serious, shut up. What was that?”<br/><br/>“...Is that the harpy we came out here to find?”<br/><br/>“I think so. Sounds awful close, too.”<br/><br/>“Huh.”<br/><br/>“Yeah.”<br/><br/>“...I swear to god, Dean, if I don't get to kill it, you're a dead man.”<br/><br/>“You get to kill it? Oh, I don't think so. I have a serious hankering to hit something, and if it's not the harpy, then it's gonna be you.”<br/><br/>“Short little jerk.”<br/><br/>“Pompous bitch.”</p><p>~*~</p><p><br/><br/>Whoever had said, “Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure,” needed to be shot. Extensively. Because it wasn't a pleasure at all, and Sam didn't like hating his brother, but right now, he absolutely <em>loathed</em> Dean. He wasn't aware of another moment in his life when he'd wanted to hit his brother so much.<br/><br/>Because Dean was happily eating on Sam's bed. More importantly, he was eating every single messy thing, the messiest of messy things, that he'd been able to find.<br/><br/>Sam glared at him. Dean sent him a fake, too cheerful grin back, and took a huge bite of something that dripped grease onto Sam's pillow. “Whoops,” Dean said.<br/><br/>The wi-fi was non-existent at the motel. The t.v. was on the fritz, and it was cold outside. Not freezing, but still cold enough that you wanted inside fast as soon as you stepped out. The car was all but running on fumes, and the town had nowhere really to go. That meant that they were stuck in the motel room, together, until at least tomorrow. And considering how well they'd behaved with each other so far today, the possibility of a body being found tomorrow was a high chance.<br/><br/><em>Splat</em>. Sam grit his teeth and focused on the computer. He'd play Hearts. That was fine. He'd play Hearts or Solitaire and ignore Dean completely. The fumes from the greasy food were making Sam queasy, though, and Dean freakin' <em>knew</em> that, the pompous jerk. He knew he'd made Sam sick at lunch with whatever he'd eaten, though he kept saying he didn't. Sam was just a girl, didn't know what a real meal was for a man.<br/><br/>Crunching continued from the bed, and when he glanced over, he found Dean wiping his messy chin with the bedsheet. When he realized he was being watched Dean glanced up, but didn't stop. In fact, he rubbed it a little harder, then gave that stupid grin again. “Problem?” he asked.<br/><br/>And that. Was. <em>It</em>.<br/><br/>“I'm going out,” Sam snapped, grabbing his jacket and gun. Dean's fake smile immediately disappeared, and he was pushing himself up off the bed fast.<br/><br/>“Don't you take the car!” was all Sam heard before he slammed the door shut. No, he wasn't going to take the damn car. (Though right now, the blasphemous thought of eating something greasy and getting it all over the seats of the car, something that was tantamount to suicide, was actually of great appeal.) He shrugged further into his jacket and let his fury warm him up. God but he wanted to kill Dean. They were in the shadier part of town, no need for discretion, just dump his body somewhere. Dress him in a tutu first, though. Let someone find him that way, and it would serve him right, the arrogant asshole.<br/><br/>God but the girls who thought Dean was so charming? Seriously needed their heads examined. Dean was a miserable son of a bitch to live with. He belched all the time, he left dirty clothes laying where people (like Sam, for example) would trip on them. He farted, picked his teeth, insisted on clicking the radio all the time, ate greasy food that led to the farting and belching, was sarcastic, obnoxious, thought he knew everything-<br/><br/>A high pitched scream came from just up ahead. Sam froze for a half a second before he flew down the street towards where it had come from. He turned into the alley maybe ten seconds later, only to find a young woman struggling with something that didn't look decidedly human. “Hey!” Sam yelled, catching its attention. Its eyes were bright blue, shining in the dark.<br/><br/>Sam couldn't believe his luck. Of all the nights to come out here with merely a gun, of all the places, and he'd managed to stumble upon a hunt. What were the odds? A hundred to one?<br/><br/>Slowly Sam began to grin. God his luck was awesome. Too bad he only had the gun, though. No matter. He pulled it out and fired all six rounds without pretense, straight into the being's chest. It floundered backwards and hit the ground, leaving the woman staring in horror. She ran off not a moment later, leaving Sam with the body that was struggling to stand back up.<br/><br/>“Oh good,” Sam said, looking around. Pipe, block of wood, other various objects. Nothing that would kill, but would let him beat at something other than Dean's head.<br/><br/>He picked up the pipe and let all his fury at his brother channel into his first swing.<br/><br/>When he came back an hour later, knuckles bruised from punching, hands raw from the pipe, splinters in his skin from the wood, and covered in blood that most certainly wasn't his, Dean stared at him. Sam toed his shoes off before grinning. “Night, Dean,” he said cheerfully, right before jumping onto Dean's bed, blood, grime, and all. Even as Dean squawked indignantly, Sam burrowed under the covers and let himself begin to drift off.<br/><br/>Much better.</p><p>~*~</p><p><br/><br/>Finally a place that had wi-fi. Finally a hunt that sounded like it would promise the safety of the masses. It was all good.<br/><br/>Except for the fact that Dean was still pissed as all hell at his brother, and Sam was apparently equally as pissed off at Dean. Okay, yeah, the food thing last night might have been a little over the top, but Sam had done his goddamn drumming again the night before, and then they'd found that crappy excuse for a town to stay in last night because Sam hadn't filled up the Impala, <em>again</em>, and then Sam had come back from doing god knew what and put his dirty self all over <em>Dean's</em> bed.<br/><br/>The diner was full. No one noticed or cared when Dean kicked his brother under the table. It only made him feel marginally better. Of course, any good feelings he'd gotten from it disappeared as soon as Sam retaliated, hitting Dean <em>hard</em> in the knees. “You little bitch,” Dean snarled quietly. <br/><br/>“You started it, you friggin' asshole,” Sam snarled right back. Dean kicked him back again, hard enough to make Sam wince. Dean found his lips curling up into a satisfied grin, which disappeared a minute later when Sam pulled water up through his straw and blew it back out, straight at Dean. Dean shut his eyes tight even after the water had fully drenched his face. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find Sam smirking at him now.<br/><br/>The waitress came back over, frowning in confusion when she looked at Dean's wet appearance. “He's a little clumsy,” Sam said before Dean could say anything. “I didn't have time to bring his sippy cup; could you get him another water please?”<br/><br/>The waitress smiled knowingly. “Of course,” she said, and when she turned back to Dean, any chances he'd had of sleeping with her were shot to hell with the look she gave him, like he was wearing adult diapers and out of his mind. “I'll get you another water, don't worry,” she said, like she was talking to a kid, when not even six minutes ago he'd had her almost eating out of his hand. She walked off leaving Dean stewing. Sam looked highly pleased with himself.<br/><br/>Without a second thought Dean grabbed Sam's glass and took what little water was left in it and splashed it all over Sam. Sam gaped like a fish, and this time Dean didn't grin. He just glared. Sam glared right back.<br/><br/>God, how the hell people looked at Sam and saw a shy, sweet guy Dean didn't know. They needed their heads examined, because Sam was anything but an angel to live with. He was OCD to the extreme, constantly pissy, and seemed to think he could block the computer from certain people (from, say, Dean). His farts took up all the air in the room, he was constantly drumming his fingers to the point of driving Dean insane, was sarcastic, obnoxious, thought he knew everything.<br/><br/>Lunch continued being a tense affair, and they both left feeling more pissed off with each other than they had when they'd come in. “Hunt?” Sam said when they got back in the car.<br/><br/>The hunt was scheduled for the evening, when there would be less people around in the national park. But at that moment, Dean wasn't sure he was going to last with Sam that long. “Hunt,” he agreed, and turned the car towards the park.<br/><br/>The bunyip wasn't hard to find. In fact, it was about to take bites out of two hikers, which left Dean feeling a little bit better about coming early. Catching its attention wasn't hard at all.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, what Dean realized they'd forgotten was strategy, which became apparent as soon as it charged them. “Run!” Sam yelled to the hikers, who took off fast.<br/><br/>They both got off a few shots, but the thing was too damn fast. Dean curled his fist tighter around the gun and wished, for once, that you could club a bunyip to death. He <em>really</em> wanted to hurt something, something big and hairy, and Sam was still in that group.<br/><br/>Then the bunyip moved between them, somehow, and the next thing Dean knew, Sam was flying into a tree. He hit hard, sliding fast to the ground, and when he reached the dirt he tumbled over and didn't move.<br/><br/>Dean slowly turned back to the bunyip. It was giving small growls and moving slower now. A closer look showed that Sam had, somehow, managed to drive his knife through its leg. God how he wanted to make its death last, wanted to beat it into the ground. Wanted to kick the crap out of it and keep punching.<br/><br/>Not imagining it as Sam, though. No, he wanted to do it <em>for</em> Sam.<br/><br/>“You don't get to hurt Sam,” he said through gritted teeth, pulling out his gun. One shot through its temple rendered it dead, absolutely and completely. He put the gun away, still glaring at it. “That's my job,” he added, then took off for Sam, not giving it another moment's notice.<br/><br/>Sam was slowly coming to by the time Dean got to him. “You okay?” Dean asked. When Sam put his hand up Dean didn't hesitate to take it, bringing Sam to sitting as carefully as he could. “Sammy?”<br/><br/>“Just sore,” Sam admitted. “More my back then my head, I think.”<br/><br/>“I'll be the judge of that,” Dean said. “C'mon, let's get you back to the room.”<br/><br/>Sam didn't argue, instead letting Dean lead him back to the car. They stopped to briefly pull Sam's knife from the carcass before continuing back down the hill. They were in the car before the park rangers – responding to the hikers or the gun shot, Dean didn't know – were heading up into the trees.<br/><br/>Sam wound up with only a small bump on his head, no concussion. His back was a mottled amount of bruises, though, and moving was going to hurt like a bitch for the next few days. Dean patched up the remaining scratches, all the while thinking quietly to himself.<br/><br/>Kid was obnoxious, yeah. Sarcastic and tended to drive Dean up the wall. Pompous, pissy, always drumming his fingers.<br/><br/>But he was Dean's little brother, and more than that, he was <em>Sammy</em>. That left a lot of room for forgiveness and letting what was actually little crap go. He was okay with that.<br/><br/>And from the small smile Sam offered him when he was done, his brother was thinking the exact same thing.<br/><br/>“Pizza?” Dean asked, offering the olive branch of peace out.<br/><br/>“Pizza,” Sam agreed, taking it with open arms.<br/><br/>END</p>
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